A Mind That Works Overtime
by howimetneilpatrickharris
Summary: What the infamous Barney Stinson really thinks when he stares into the bottom of a glass. / One shot. (First fic please don't hate me if it's poo)


Barney stared into the bottom of his scotch on the rocks, his trance broken only by the exclamations of the others at the table. His head reflexively snapped upwards, eyes landing immediately on the tall brunette strolling into the bar, beige trench coat hanging casually over her arm. Robin. He couldn't help but notice he'd never heard noises quite as contented from the same group of people when he made the same journey, from door to booth. But then, how happy would you be to see a man your college friend met in a bathroom at a bar? He stood up and grabbed a chair from the table behind him, offering his previous seat to the late arrival. He'd probably be the first to leave, so there was no harm in being closest to the door.

"How was work?" Ted beamed, eyeing the brunette. Fine, thanks for asking.

"Horrible. Sandy really knows how to get on my nerves. It wasn't even directed at me today, but watching him hit on every pretty girl in the office is getting really old, really fast." Robin replied, earning three sympathetic smiles and one stifled, irritated laugh. _Not quite as old as watching one of your closest friends do the same in a bar_, he assumed. Lily glanced at the eldest of the gang, but said nothing. As usual, she was the only one to notice.

_"Barney's whole life is a cry for help!"_

**_Then help me._**

He fell swiftly back into his half-inebriated state, hypnotised by the brown liquid weaving its way between the slowly melting cubes of ice in his glass. He kept one ear on the conversation at hand, but paid little attention to what was actually being said. Hearing, but not listening. That was, until one familiar phrase tumbled out of Ted's mouth.

"Marshall, as my best friend, I'm telling you that you're being stupid. We're too old to play Edward Fortyhands. Not tonight, Beercules." Jesus Christ, it's like he does it on purpose! He knows. He knows he isn't Ted's best friend – or anybody's, for that matter - but being reminded of it four times an hour is slightly unnecessary.

_"If you want to go lick the Liberty Bell, just go lick it yourself."_

_"No, it has to be the two of us."_

_"Why? Why do you need me?"_

_"Because you're my best friend, all right? You don't have to tell me I'm yours. But the way I see it, we're a team. Without you, I'm just the dynamic uno." _

**_Or, more accurately, the static fifth wheel in a perfectly dynamic quartet._**

It had always been Marshall. Barney wasn't blind. Marshall would always be the best man, because he was the best bro, or at least Ted seemed to think so. Barney eyed Marshall and Lily. He wouldn't remind them of it, (fuck, he didn't even want Marshall to know) but he was the reason they got back together, and yet Ted managed to be best man too. For what? Being friends since college?

Never mind the getting them back together. He married them, for Christ's sake. He married them, and then stood back and watched while they hugged everyone else before they hugged him. The others probably don't even remember that, but he'll never forget it. You marry a couple, and they still prefer Ted. It was nothing new, if he was honest with himself. Ted was the intelligent one. The sensible one. The reliable one. Or, he made himself out to be. Barney couldn't even begin to count the number of times he'd used a word and then been made to rephrase his sentence to account for the limited vocabulary range of the architecture professor. But, yet again, he kept quiet. There were reputations to be kept up – and it wasn't just his this time.

"Barney, are you okay?" Lily questioned, reaching out to touch the man's tensed hand.

"Me? I'm awesome!" Barney responded, both a little too quickly and a little too enthusiastically, before swiftly pulled his hand out from under hers.

"You haven't said a word all night." She pointed out. He wavered slightly under the intense stares of the group, but he was a master of excuses.

"I'm fine, just tired. We had an early meeting at work today, and I was up 'till four banging this blonde chick with a huge rack and a lack of father-" His story was cut short as it was met by a number of disgusted groans and one or two eye rolls. He knew how to get out of a conversation, even more simply than the black sitcom method.

"You know, it's not fair to get a woman into bed because you know she has daddy issues, Barney." Ted stated, in perhaps the most condescending voice that Barney had ever been on the receiving end of. He shrugged, resisting the urge to comment on the fact that it was Ted who insisted you should have something in common with a girl you hook up with.

Two hours had passed before he tuned back into the conversation again, and the topic had apparently fallen to children.

"You're gonna be an amazing dad, Ted! You have nothing to worry about." Marshall stated. That was yet another comment he'd never heard from the group (sincerely, at least – it had been a sarcastic remark a number of times).

_"I can't adopt a baby with you, Barney."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because we don't even have one yet and you're already a terrible father."_

He wasn't – and never would be – a terrible father. To Hurricane Stinson-Mosby (not Mosby-Stinson), or any future child he had. He'd be everything his own father never was. There, for example. There, committed, loving, consistent. Anything but a lame suburban dad. He'd be a better daddy than Ted could ever be, as soon as he found the right woman to be an equally good mother. It wasn't that he didn't want to settle down; it never had been that. It was that old habits die hard, and that it was easier to keep up a façade than it was to appear vulnerable, but _God_ did he want someone to love him. Actually love him. Not in the conditional way he usually got. Not in the "Barney, I love you, but-". No buts. Unconditional. But if he mentioned the way he felt – which he tried not to – they'd only laugh it off, like they'd done before, in the back of a limousine on New Year's Eve.

_"Yeah, you know why all the circuits are jammed? Because everyone's calling their loved ones, everyone around the world. Everyone except Barney… Oh, sure, laugh. Laugh for Barney Stinson. Laugh for the sad clown trapped on his whirling carousel of suits and cigars and bimbos and booze. Round and round it goes. And where's it all heading? Nowhere."_

_"Is this just 'cause you lost your "Get Psyched" mix?"_

_"I'm sorry. Am I not allowed to have a pensive side?"_

_"No. No, not tonight. Not in the limo. We got to stay psyched. Ted went to a lot of trouble to make this an awesome New Year's."_

**_Good for Ted._**

The only other time he'd let his overactive mind release its silenced thoughts was when he was half asleep in Marshall and Lily's bed, in an item of nightwear that should remain unmentioned for the next eternity or so. He knew he'd made all the wrong decisions in life, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. He had to finish what he'd started; he just hoped to God it'd finish soon. He wanted so badly to have what he had with Shannon. He was so close to being happy. He could've been the father to her child. Instead, the only love he got was from blonde girls in short dresses, and from the bosses that were bleeding him dry. Money wasn't enough for him anymore. He had enough money to buy anything in the world (300inch flat screens are not cheap), except he didn't want anything. The one thing he wants, he can't buy. But, while he can't buy happiness, he can buy friendship, and has done for years.

And so, as the four other friends say their goodbyes and head out, he picks up the tab at the bar.


End file.
